Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, made possible by the Ranger's Apprentice by John Flanagan. I have only borrowed his creation and I make no money. For this story I have used several other Rangers from the books, though I've also added my own. I do this only in the hope to entertain…

Author's Note: No harm shall come to the characters that can't be fixed with enough coffee…

Chapter 21

The Baron seemed confused to have to place his own Ranger under arrest, but when it was ordered by the Commandant of the Ranger corps, he obeyed, and offered them what provisions they needed to continue. He offered to send troops with them, but Crowley declined. They wanted to move fast and quietly. The band would most likely have moved on after the altercation with the Rangers, and that meant they needed to track them and find where they had gone.

For the first part they rode in silence, though it wasn't the comfortable silence that was customary between them, something that made Halt give pause. Normally, Crowley was the reasonable one, though he certainly had a temper. He had learned to master it very well, and yet this time, he was seething with a deep quiet rage that was uncommon for him.

"It wasn't your fault."

"What?" looking up Crowley gave him a confused look.

"It wasn't your fault," Halt repeated. "What Harcourt did, it was not your fault." He was furious himself, but his fury was directed at the man who had done the deed, Crowley had turned it inwards on himself. Much like he knew Will had done when he had to report the loss of Gilan to Crowley. Like Gilan did when he left Will in Celtica. Like he himself had done when Will was taken, and like he had done before that when it had been Gilan so long ago…

"I approved of Egon taking him, I passed him on his assessments…" Crowley glared at him. "I'm the Commandant for this outfit, I'm supposed to keep them in check and not let something like this happen."

"There are fifty of us," Halt shrugged, he wasn't used to being the voice of reason like this. As mad as he was, a part of him could appreciate the irony. "Egon was a good man. He had his flaws, certainly, given how the others handled the whole mess back then, I'd say he was the one who didn't manage it too well." When Morgarath had tried to disband the corps and discredit all the Rangers, most had fought it. Egon however had tried to find the answers in a jug of brandywine. Well, he had been posted in Sea Cliff, a calm and quiet Fief where the new Rangers, the old ones or the ones who just perhaps didn't measure up to some of the others were placed. It was not a dishonour to be placed there, it was just a fact as it was.

"He shaped up when we needed him," Crowley shrugged.

"He did, and he proved his worth," Halt agreed. "But I gather he was never one of our best ones? Not like Pritchard certainly. He was good enough, but not really more than so."

"I suppose he wasn't," Crowley agreed. "But he never left one of our own behind."

"No, he did not," Halt agreed. "He trained Harcourt the best he knew how, and Harcourt has been good enough. We needed men, and we needed them quickly, there was bound to be one or two who might not have passed the muster if we had been able to afford to be more picky."

"In which case I might have thought twice about Harcourt," Crowley agreed. "So far, he has handled most of the incidents in his Fief without too much difficulty. There was a problem with some Highway men some time ago, but I sent in Will Hawkins to give him a hand and they handled it."

"What he did now, we couldn't have foreseen," Halt realized he had a white knuckled grip on the reins first when Abelard whinnied an objection. He forced himself to relax his grip. "He had no right to say I'd chose one over the other, I could never do that." He paused, glancing at Crowley. "Is that what they all think? That I could choose between them so easily? Decide that one doesn't matter?" If the rest of the Ranger's thought so, then how had Gilan thought about it? Had he been resigned to his fate, thinking it would have been so easy for Halt to cast him aside? There was a gaping hole in his chest, a burning hole where his heart would have been, and the thought that maybe Gilan had simply accepted his fate was a dagger stabbing, over and over…. Had he done that to the boy? Made him think he was not important? When in truth he was the very life in his veins…

"I don't know," Crowley gave him a pained look. "I'm sorry Halt, but I don't know, if they do, they certainly never told me. I, I suppose it could just be one or two of them, not really thinking at all. You're different with them, but that doesn't mean anything. They always were different. It would not have been fair to treat them the same, but I've never thought you could pick one over the other. I certainly could not…"

"Will needed more security than Gilan," Halt chewed his lip. "At least Gilan never seemed to need it."

"Gilan needed it, but he didn't need you to tell him the same way," Crowley mused. "He could see it for himself, they always were different, Gilan, the way he'd put things together… The way he'd spot details even I missed, I always thought I'd have him take over after me. He'd have been great at it. He would have hated it as much as I do, but he might have been even better at it."

Halt nodded slowly, he had seen it himself, the grasp Gilan could have over a larger concept. The way he seemed able to keep an endless number of seemingly insignificant little details in his head, and pop them out when they made sense.

"Will has always been more like you," Crowley found himself smiling. "They were us, in a way. Seeing Gilan with Will, the way he was with him, it really reminded me of us. Not in all ways, but it was always nice to see."

"Gilan was always good with him, I always knew he would do what he could to teach him, and to keep him safe," Halt sighed, shaking his head. "I always knew he'd do his best to keep Will safe, no matter what. I never thought that he, that he wouldn't be able to keep himself safe…"

"He might still be alive, we don't know that they killed him," Crowley stated softly, though he was not certain if he dared to hope himself. It seemed too fantastic to find him alive. Even if they did, what would the monsters have done to him? The state they had left the farms in, the way they had tormented the people living on them. What would they have done to a Ranger who had killed several of them? A part of him almost hoped that Gilan was dead, that they had killed him quickly and he would at least not have had to suffer through torture before it. He hated himself for thinking it, but it was true, the way they had treated the people in there way, for no reason at all. How then would they have treated someone they had reason to hate? It did not bear thinking about.

Glancing to his side, to his friend, he knew Halt was thinking the same thing. The two of them exchanging grim looks, neither one willing to say it out loud, but both of them thinking it. That no matter how hard it was to face the loss, perhaps it was the kindest thing they could hope for.

Halt turned his eyes away first, not saying anything, scanning the woods around them as if looking for a threat. It was far too early to worry about such things, but he would not be taken unprepared and he could not stand to dwell on the fate of his apprentice.

There was no reason for them to go to all the locations the other three had, but knowing they would pass close to one of the attacked farms they decided to stop and examine it.

The graves spoke their own grim truth, and on one of them, the grave of a small child, lay a toy sword. Halt, having studied what remained of the farm house looked at it grimly, seeing Crowley had stopped by it.

"Gilan did that," Crowley nodded to the sword. "Will told me."

Halt did not answer him, it was the grave of a child, a toy sword like all little boys in any village would have. Yet he was thinking of another grave, one that did not yet exist, and a sword that was not a toy. Was there a grave for his apprentice? Had they only thrown the body away?

Seething with an anger he had never felt before, not even when his twin brother tried to kill him he made for his horse. He could not stand to stay at the destroyed farm any longer. Crowley followed, silently, supportive, but with the same deep haunted look in his eyes.

Their ponies seemed to sense their modes, almost shuffling their hooves as they moved down the road. They would be getting closer to the bandits old camp now, closer to where it had happened, and they moved with greater caution and more vigilance.

It was not hard to tell where the bandits had had their camp. They showed the same destructive disregard to the forest around them as they had done to the farms they ravaged.

A huge firepit held ashes, pieces of burnt wood and any number of animal bones and other refuse. Saplings had been hacked down for no apparent cause, limbs had been hacked off of trees to burn, when there were plenty of wood on the ground that would have done just as well. Broken bottles, jugs and pieces of equipment littered the ground while an open pit had been left to spread its stink.

The only possible evidence of any humanity was the shallow graves with names scratched into pieces of wood. All of them would be the bandits, as none of the names were familiar to them, and none of them were the Ranger. Crowley noted the names down, they might be known to the local Baron, in which case he would want to know who they were.

Trodden into the ground, covered by dirt and part of a broken boot so that Halt nearly missed it was the glint of metal. When he picked it up, he found a broken silver chain. One identical to the one he himself wore and he clutched it in his hand, scanning every inch of the ground around it. Finally he found what he was looking for, a silver oakleaf. A number etched in the back, though he did not need the number to know to whom it belonged.

"Gilan's," Crowley stood beside him, reaching out a tentative finger to touch it.

"Gilan's," Halt confirmed. A nearby stone was stained with a dark rusty smear, blood.

"I found some scraps of fabric I think was from his shirt," Crowley held the small scraps out. "They're Ranger issue."

Halt nodded, looking at them, clutching the oakleaf pendant in his hand so that it dug into his skin.

"I haven't seen any evidence that a body has been dragged off," Crowley started, swallowing. "There is plenty of evidence of a fight, but none of a body being removed. Some drag marks, but they all go to the graves. I don't think Gilan was dead when they left, I think they took him with them."

Halt nodded, he had not seen anything to indicate his apprentice had been killed on the spot, the question was, why had they taken him along? What had they planned on doing to him?

His hand clenched tighter, the silver pendant digging deep into his flesh. A single drop of blood fell from his fingers to merge with the stain on the ground.

TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…